


A Clash of Cliques

by stillscape



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV), Game of Thrones (TV), Veep
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-29
Updated: 2014-08-29
Packaged: 2018-02-12 08:10:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2102076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stillscape/pseuds/stillscape
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everybody who's anybody at Westeros High has been invited to Selina Meyer's bash...</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Clash of Cliques

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Diaphenia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diaphenia/gifts).



> Thank you to my lovely betas, Amber and Emily of Emily, for everything. "Everything" includes brainstorming, ironing out character details, throwing Diaphenia off the scent while she was trying to guess what I wrote, helping me find smug .gifs to post on tumblr, and talking me down from adding more characters.

// 

“It just sucks, you know? We used to be best friends. Best _best_ friends. In the world. And now she’s--” 

Amy Santiago, dark-haired, uptight, adorable rule-follower of Jake’s dreams, paused. 

“What?” 

“Forget it,” she said, with a slight sniffle. “I don’t know why I’m telling you any of this. No, wait, I do. Because the alternative activity is too horrible to imagine. How many minutes are left?” 

Jake felt a slight sting, right in his pride. It was all too familiar. So familiar, in fact, that he’d gotten to where he kind of liked it. If that said something about him, he didn’t want to know, so he bunched those feelings up into a tiny imaginary paper ball and flicked them to the back of his mind, unfolding instead his favorite mental image of Amy S. Surprisingly, it wasn’t from Joffrey’s pool party last year, when she had suntanned in her little red bikini (Amy B. next to her, in the shade, complaining about her own pale skin), sipping a Coke, until Jake (with assistance from Dan, Charles, and Tyrion) successfully doused the Amys with a tidal wave from perfectly synchronized cannonballs. It wasn’t the day in biology when the fetal pigs came out and Amy had been the only girl not to shriek. She’d set her jaw and ordered Jake to hand her a scalpel. 

No, his favorite image of her was from last year’s school play, when she’d taken a turn as Rizzo in _Grease_. Amy couldn’t sing, she couldn’t dance, she couldn’t act, and she was too much of a goody-two-shoes to even pretend to smoke convincingly. That, Jake thought, was what made her such a cute Rizzo, stomping across the stage in a pink satin jacket and saddle shoes with her hair in a high ponytail, convincing absolutely no one that Rizzo was sexually experienced. Opening night of the play was the moment Jake Peralta fell seriously _in like_ with Amy Santiago. 

“Six,” he said now, not bothering to check the time. In truth, they were definitely more than one minute into their seven minutes of heaven. 

Amy rolled her eyes. “Screw you, Jake,” she said, pushing the closet door open anyway. 

A broad smile crossed Selina’s lips when the two of them rejoined the circle. “Wow, Peralta. You’re so bad Santiago broke the rules of the game?” 

Amy S. flushed an angry red. On either side of Selina, Amy B. and Joffrey snickered. 

Jake looked around the basement for Gina, hoping he could signal her to come rescue him, but she was nowhere to be seen. 

// 

Amy Brookheimer hadn’t intended to ditch her longtime best friend. They were still friends, really, even if they hadn’t hung out one-on-one in months. It was just that they were in sophomore year now, and it was time to set her sights on the things that were really important. Sure, Amy S. was probably the best SAT study partner in the whole school, but she could study for the SATs just fine on her own, or with her private tutor. And she, Amy B., was busy. Between her internship in the Mayor’s office, her part-time job at the frozen yogurt shop, debate team, and her determination to carry a 4.0 straight into Harvard (or Georgetown or Yale or Stanford, if it came to that), there simply wasn’t time for frivolous pursuits like hanging out. 

That was why her friendship with Selina was so exciting. Selina Meyer was going places; Amy just knew it. Selina was a junior, and she was already president of the debate team, and she had the kind of easy smile and firm handshake that Amy not only envied, but downright coveted. 

“Ame,” said Selina now. They were locked in the closet together, lights off, a thin strip of illumination sneaking under the closet door. “You’re my bestie, right?” 

“BFF forever,” said Amy. 

Selina gave a dainty cough, and Amy immediately felt shamed. 

“I mean, that’s what the kids say.” 

“I think the second ‘F’ in BFF stands for ‘forever,’ actually.” 

Amy took a quick gulp of her beer and gagged. She hoped Selina didn’t notice. She’d never been one to drink at parties, but this was Selina’s house and Selina’s party, so when Gary had handed her a red plastic cup filled mostly with foam right in front of Selina, she’d accepted instantly. 

“Anyway,” Selina continued, “I decided something. I decided I’m going to run for student body president.” 

“That’s exciting.” She hoped the comment sounded neutral, and not like she was about to beg to be involved. 

“I know. It is. You’ll help with my campaign, right?” 

“Of course. Of course I will.” Amy stuck her tongue into the beer and managed to collect some foam without gagging. “I will run the best damn campaign you could possibly imagine.” 

“Oh, well, actually,” said Selina, checking her watch, “I’ve already asked someone to run it.” 

“Oh.” Amy tried to ignore the wave of hot, jealous anger that washed through her stomach. She wouldn’t show her anger. Cool and collected, that was her. “Who?” 

“Dan Egan.” 

“Oh, _fuck_ me.” 

“Ame!” If Selina had been capable of giggling, Amy thought, she would have giggled. As it was, she just placed a friendly hand on Amy’s forearm and opened the closet door. “I’ve never heard you swear before.” 

They rejoined the circle. Amy arranged herself cross-legged on the floor in her previous spot. Then she leaned over just enough to send a death glare at Dan, who grinned at her. 

She gritted her teeth and chugged the beer as hard as she could. 

“Lush,” sneered Joffrey, leaning over to take his turn with the bottle. He gave it an expert spin. “Let’s hope it lands on you then, yeah?” 

Joffrey’s best friend leaned over to give him a high five, but Joffrey failed to reciprocate, and it turned into an awkward back pat instead. Amy rolled her eyes. 

“Shut up, Jonah,” he said, before Jonah could even open his mouth. 

// 

“Joffrey asked me to run his campaign for student council president,” boasted Jonah. “Oh, damn. It is a tight fit in this closet, huh?” 

Brienne counted silently to ten, then twenty, then thirty, then skipped to a hundred and kept going. She always, _always_ got sent to the closet with Jonah, just because he was the only boy taller than she was. 

He blathered on for a while, the words pounding senselessly against her ears until she was left with her usual list of choices: she could beat him up, she could make out with him for the rest of the seven minutes, or she could try to find some other way to get him to shut up. Simply telling him to stuff it didn’t work; she’d learned that the very first time they’d been sent to the closet together freshman year. And making out with him was not, of course, actually a valid option.

“Have you checked out the Ryantology tumblr yet? I made an awesome gifset of Clegane taking out that Martell kid at the last football game. It has almost a dozen notes.” 

Brienne spread out her fingers in front of her, contemplating. There had to be some good use for her abnormally large hands. Besides basketball, that was. 

She pressed her palm against Jonah’s mouth and pushed until his back hit the wall. She didn’t have to push very hard. He was skinny and weak, and--unsurprisingly--a little slimy to the touch. 

“Mmpfh,” he protested. 

“If you try to make out with my palm, I will kick you in the balls,” she told him. 

They both knew, from previous parties and other attempts to shut Jonah up, that this was not an idle threat, and he stopped struggling. Brienne checked her cell with her free hand. Only three minutes to go. She let her mind wander. _“Who would you even want to be locked in the closet with?”_ , Amy Santiago had once asked her. Since Mr. Lannister was obviously out of bounds, seeing as he was a teacher and all, she couldn’t think of an answer. 

// 

Out on the deck, Tyrion sipped his wine and leaned against a large planter, trying to look nonchalantly cool. It was hopeless, he knew. Aside from being a little person, which was complicated enough, he had the indignity of somehow being only a year older than his own nephew. At school he mostly avoided the bastard, but in social settings it became more difficult. No one _liked_ Joffrey, Tyrion was pretty sure of that, but he had social clout and a sort of posse of hangers-on, and even the kids who weren’t in his posse wouldn’t risk offending him by failing to extend the brat a party invitation. 

This girl, though. This girl clearly didn’t care about trying to look cool. She was whirling around, hopping on one foot and then the other, swinging her hair to a beat he couldn’t hear. Whether or not she knew he was there, he had no idea. He racked his brain for a moment, trying to come up with a name. 

Gina. Gina Linetti. That was it. She wasn’t in Joffrey’s posse, but she was friends with some people who were, so he’d seen her around at his dad’s house on Casterly Rock Road a couple of times. 

It was warm out this evening, warm enough that Tyrion felt sweat begin to bead up under his black knit beanie. He shoved a stubby finger, chipped black nail polish and all, under the edge and rubbed just above his temple. He hoped he wouldn’t start sweating for real. What looked ruggedly masculine on the jocks merely made him look pathetic. 

Finally, he couldn’t take it any longer. 

“What in the world are you doing?” he called. 

The girl turned, staring down her nose at him, but didn’t stop moving. “I’m practicing. Duh. What does it look like I’m doing?” 

“Having a seizure.” 

Now she stopped. “You’re a weird little one.” 

“Thank you,” replied Tyrion, who had long ago found sarcasm to be the best line of defense against the cruelties of the teenage female. 

“Kinda cute, though,” she said, stepping closer. 

Tyrion gulped. 

“You’re one of the freaky geniuses, right?” 

He shrugged and took another sip of wine, speaking directly into the bottle so he’d look interestingly disaffected. “People say so.” It was Tyrion’s one great gift. Being a smart kid meant he had automatic credibility with nearly everyone, and didn’t have to drift between cliques, trying to latch on. 

Gina Linetti folded her arms across her chest, stuck out one hip, and stared unblinkingly. “Where’d you get the wine? I thought Selina only had shitty beer.” 

“Brought it myself,” said Tyrion. The one advantage of being a little person: the stupider of the liquor store clerks were afraid to card him. When she continued to stare, he held out the bottle and raised his eyebrows. 

// 

Rosa lay on her back behind Selina’s pool house, the damp grass delicious against her bare feet. Parties annoyed her. She always went anyway, in case something not stupid happened, but thus far nothing not stupid had ever happened at any party. 

She heard a rustle, and some footsteps. A moment later, the silhouette of another girl crossed her line of sight. 

“What are you doing back here?” 

Rosa folded her arms behind her head. “None of your business.” 

“Fair enough.” 

This, Rosa thought, was why they were friends. She inclined her head very slightly to the left, and Sue plopped down beside her. 

“Charles again?” 

“God. It’s like he never learned the word _no_. N-O. Two letters.” 

Sue raised an eyebrow. “He try anything?” 

“‘Course not,” said Rosa, shaking her head. “He just followed me around for an hour like a lost puppy. I should have called animal control.” 

Sue scoffed. Rosa scoffed too. It was a relief, she thought, to laugh about it. 

“Kent seems to think repeatedly texting me is going to have some sort of positive effect.” 

“Hey.” Rosa propped herself up on one elbow. “Did you actually sleep with him?” 

Sue shot her a Look, and Rosa shrugged. 

They lay in silence, staring at the stars, until a third party rushed around the back of the pool house and nearly tripped over one of Rosa’s abandoned boots. 

“Oh, sorry,” said the girl. “I didn’t think anyone would be back here.” 

Normally either Rosa or Sue would have snapped at her, but they had both heard all the gossip. This girl could use a break. Tonight, in the spirit of camaraderie against the idiot boys populating their student body, Rosa patted the ground on her right. 

“‘S okay. Sit.” Sue nodded once in agreement. 

“Thanks,” said Sansa Stark, lowering herself to the ground. She seemed not to care that her clothes--much nicer than anything Rosa ever would have worn, to a party or otherwise--were getting wet and dirty. 

“Joffrey?” Sue asked, referring to Sansa’s awful ex. 

Sansa shook her head. “Petyr.” 

“Prick,” said Rosa. “Can’t even spell his name right.” 

Sansa snorted, and for the first time, Rosa liked her. She sat up, reached into the inner pocket of her leather jacket and pulled out a joint. She lit it and took a deep, expert drag before holding it up for the others. They sat up too. 

“Yes please,” said Sue, reaching out her hand. She handed the joint back. Rosa took a second hit before offering it to Sansa, whom she was pretty sure would refuse. 

Instead, Sansa shrugged and muttered, “Oh, why the hell not.” 

“Attagirl,” cackled Rosa. “Awesome. You have no idea how to smoke, do you?” 

Sansa raised the joint to her lips and gave Rosa a contemptuous glare. “I’ve seen it done.” 

“Hold it in for as long as you can,” advised Sue. 

Sansa nodded through her deep drag. She successfully held her breath for about ten seconds, then coughed so hard she almost turned blue. 

“There you go,” said Rosa, giving Sansa a hearty thump on the back. “It gets easier with practice. Trust me.” 

Sansa, eyes watering, gave Rosa a little smile. 

// 

“You all right?” 

Terry jumped at the sound of her voice, though Brienne had spoken softly. 

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“No worries,” said Terry, shaking his head. He ran a hand over where his hair used to be before he’d begun shaving himself bald, and even in the dim lighting of the front porch, Brienne could see nervous beads of sweat pass under his fingers. “No worries at all.” 

A lump almost appeared in Brienne’s throat, but she successfully pushed it down with a good firm swallow. She settled herself on the top step, next to him. 

“Did you freak out again?” 

“I didn’t freak out!” 

“Mm-hmm.” She gave his arm a pat, meaning for the gesture to be reassuring, but instead he flinched. Perhaps she’d patted too hard, although the size of Terry’s biceps suggested he ought to be able to take it. 

“All right. Maybe Terry freaked out a little.” 

It was not a good sign, Brienne knew, when her friend began referring to himself in the third person. “What happened?”

“Just some talk.” He let out a deep sigh. “I’ve got to stop letting this affect me, you know? Gotta suck it up and get back on the field.” 

Last season, during the first football playoff game, Terry had taken a particularly hard hit from an opposing offensive tackle. The whole crowd had been silent, breathless, through several painful moments as they waited for their star defensive player to get up. Brienne had screamed as loudly as anyone when Terry finally limped off the field. 

Though he’d been medically cleared to play again, Terry hadn’t set foot on the field since. The official story was that he still had a sore knee and shoulder, despite hours of rehab. Brienne, as a fellow athlete and known keeper of promises, had been sworn to secrecy regarding the clearance and suspected she was one of very few people who knew the truth. 

“If that’s what you want,” she said now. 

“Of course Terry wants that. Why wouldn’t Terry want that?” 

Brienne arched her eyebrows at her friend, who shook his head again. 

“Who was talking?” she asked, not willing to change the subject just yet. 

“Ryan. Who else?” 

“Motherfucking Ryan,” she muttered. 

At that, Terry cackled. “He get your goat too?” 

Brienne groaned. “Another round in the closet. Seven minutes in hell.” 

“Explain something to me, Bri. Explain to me why you keep playing that damn game when you know what the outcome is going to be.” 

She bit her lip, refraining from her usual _don’t call me Bri_. Usually she hated the abbreviation, but coming from Terry, it didn’t sound so bad. 

“I’ve no idea.”

“Look at me,” he said, and she turned her head. His eyes, dark and fierce, seemed to bore into her. “You, Brienne Tarth, do not need validation from the popular crowd. You’re a cool chick.” 

When had this conversation taken _that_ turn, Brienne wondered? Still, she managed to snort, hoping it sounded appropriately disaffected while she tried to compose her intestines. They had decided to go all knotty.

“I’m serious,” said Terry. 

“Yeah, well, you don’t have to try,” she muttered. “You stand out in a good way.” 

“So do you,” he insisted, clapping her on the back. “Good talk. I feel good.” 

He stood up, and she did the same. 

“Good,” she echoed. Her bangs had fallen over her eye as she stood, and she pushed them back in irritation. Why had she ever imagined this pixie cut would be a good idea? 

When her hand had receded from her vision, she found Terry searching her with that same dark intensity. 

Brienne shook her head and resolved to stop her inner monologue from sounding like a terrible romance novel. 

//

The Meyers’ house was surprisingly large, or maybe not so surprisingly. Selina usually played it kind of cool, but it was impossible not to know she had designer purses and department store makeup and a newer, nicer car than anyone but Joffrey Baratheon. 

It made Amy Santiago’s blood boil, just a little, that these people, people like Selina, had so much and still felt the need to do bad things like steal her best friend. She’d come upstairs to find an empty bathroom, and found herself instead peeking behind every door, just to see what was there. She was in Selina’s room now, which she felt guilty about, but not guilty enough to stop looking. It wasn’t like she was _touching_ anything. She was just lost and trying to find a bathroom. 

Selina, naturally, had an en suite. 

“Figures,” Amy muttered to herself. 

“What figures?” 

She jumped. When she landed, she saw Jake Peralta in the doorway. 

“What are you doing?” she hissed. 

“What am I doing? What are you doing?” 

// 

Outside, a beat-up black Pontiac Firebird pulled up to the curb across the street. When the engine shut off, the faint strains of Dashboard Confessional ended too. The Pontiac’s driver rolled down the window. Even from this distance, he could clearly hear music and, he thought, laughter. He wondered if _she_ would be in there, laughing. She probably wasn’t there at all, and if she was, she probably wasn’t laughing. But it was possible. 

He hadn’t been invited, as usual, and the exclusion pierced his heart like a cold winter wind. 

“What do you think, Sam? Do we crash?” 

There was no response. Jon Snow glanced in the rearview mirror and saw that his best friend was currently somewhere around second base with Gilly. 

Jon sighed, letting the sadness wash over him as he remembered that _she_ had never even acknowledged his existence. He checked his eye makeup in the mirror and was relieved to see that his liner was still on point. Then he got out of the car, seated himself on the hood, and lit a cigarette. 

// 

“Are we pretending to crash the party? Because that would be cool. We’ll need secret identities. I’m Jeremiah Humperdink, teen chess wunderkind and international art collector, and you’re--” 

Amy took a deep breath and did not let it out. 

“Oh crap,” said Jake. 

“Why would you call me crap?” 

“Hey, that’s not your name. That’s the title of your future sex tape. But no. I meant it more like, crap, someone’s coming down the hall and I’m pretty sure it’s Selina.” 

Amy spun around, searching. Under the bed, that was it. That was a place people hid. She lifted up a corner of Selina’s duvet and discovered that the entire space was taken up with shoeboxes. 

“Oh, no.” 

“In here,” said Jake, grabbing her upper arm. He dragged her into the bathroom and locked the door behind them. 

“Let go of me!” 

Then Jake pressed a finger to her lips. 

Annoyed as she was at being physically shushed, when she realized just how many people were coming into Selina’s bedroom, she was grateful Jake had helped her hide. It sounded like a small army had entered. Still, she made a point of glaring at him as she swiped his hands away. 

“Listen,” he mouthed silently. 

Amy nodded. 

“This is a great bedroom, Selina,” said Amy B.’s voice. 

Selina didn’t acknowledge the compliment. Not verbally, anyway. “Gary, shut the door. We’re gonna be in here a while.” 

The outer door clicked shut, and Amy, resigned, popped up on Selina’s bathroom counter, pressing the heels of her hands into the edge. Her fingers took a light grip on the counter’s edge as she leaned forward, trying to catch the beginning discussion. At her feet, Jake sprawled untidily across Selina’s absurdly fluffy bathmat and propped himself up on one elbow, cupping his supporting hand around his ear. 

“You can’t hear better that way,” she whispered. 

Jake scoffed. “Don’t question my methods, Santiago,” he whispered back. 

// 

Gina Linetti was not like other girls. That, at least, was what Tyrion had decided, and he should know. He’d spent quite a lot of his life examining girls, thinking about them, wondering what made them tick. Most girls--well, to be fair, most people--were disappointingly easy to figure out. Their motivations. Their hopes and fears. Their desires. 

An hour into their conversation, he was no closer to figuring out Gina Linetti than before either of them had spoken. 

The night had turned cool; the back deck was still reasonably quiet, though some horrible dubstep leaked out of the basement. And Gina Linetti was a puzzle he simply could not figure out. He couldn’t even figure out whether she was smart. She got bad grades, he knew that much, but that didn’t always mean anything. She seemed to _think_ she was some kind of genius. 

Tyrion’s head buzzed pleasantly with the wine they’d been sipping together. Bolstered by it, he finally decided he would simply ask. 

“What do you want out of life, Gina?” 

She licked her lips. “Whoa, little buddy. That’s a deep question for this time of night.” 

“Don’t call me ‘little buddy,’” Tyrion muttered. 

Gina pulled his knit cap off and tousled his hair. “Aww, Little T.” 

So what she wanted out of life was to torment him, apparently. In that, Gina Linetti was _exactly_ like other girls. “Don’t call me that either.” 

“You shouldn’t wear this hat,” she said, lightly digging her long fake nails into his scalp. “Your hair’s actually kind of sexy.” 

Tyrion snatched his hat back, said nothing, and cursed his inability to make himself get up and leave. Whatever Gina was doing to his head felt too good to move away from. 

“Here’s my life plan,” she said, her flat drawl becoming slightly less vacant. “First up, graduate this shithole high school so my mom will stay off my back for a little while. I register for college and immediately take a semester in Europe. I don’t go to classes, though. I travel the continent with a traveling vaudeville show, assembling the perfect dance troupe. We call ourselves--wait for it--Floorgasm. After a few months, we hitchhike to Dubai. Then we perform for the wealthiest oil sheiks. Finally, once we’ve taken most of their dough, we hop a plane back to the U.S. and tour with Beyonce.” 

Tyrion chuckled, but Gina didn’t. She squinted at him, almost scowling. 

“You can’t be serious.” 

She drew her hand back. “Sure I’m serious.” 

Tyrion blinked a few times and searched Gina’s face for any hint that she was joking. He could find none. It occurred to him that this might just be her face. An unusual face, but not an unattractive one. 

“Well,” he said, dripping as much sarcasm into his voice as he could, “it’s good to have goals.” 

“Other things are pretty much stupid.” Gina held out her hand, and Tyrion obligingly handed over the bottle. “Wine’s good too, though. I like wine.” 

“Wine is _excellent_.” Most of his classmates thought Tyrion strange for preferring pinot noir over Miller Lite or PBR, but there you were. “Cheers, then.” 

“Cheers,” echoed Gina. 

After Gina had taken a long swig and handed the bottle back, she turned to him. “So. Are we making out or what?” 

Tyrion choked and spat a mouthful of cheap red into the nearest bush. “Are we _what_?” 

“Dude, I get it. I’m hot, you’re into me, we’re at a party. We've already swapped spit on the bottle. Let’s go for it.” 

This was completely unprecedented. Yes, he had kissed girls before, but always in public, before crowds of people, and because someone had dared the girls to do so. _Make out with Tyrion_ was a joke, an involuntary activity. He noticed that his fingers were beating out a nervous tattoo on his thigh, and he quickly sat on his hand, hoping Gina hadn’t noticed. 

“You’re...propositioning me?” 

Gina shrugged. “You’re cool. I kinda like you. And truth be told, I’ve never made out with a midget before. It sounds interesting.” 

“Dwarf, technically.” 

“Dwarf, then.” She paused, placing one of her hands gently on the sleeve of Tyrion’s thermal. “God, you have no idea how much I want to sing ‘Heigh Ho’ right now.” 

Tyrion flinched. 

“But you wouldn’t like that, I bet.” 

“No, I certainly wouldn’t.” 

Gina shrugged, and...smiled? She bared her teeth, anyway. She had nice teeth. “Well, my offer stands.” 

Tyrion sloshed around the end of the bottle, contemplating. A girl--an attractive one, even--wanted to make out with him. But there was a catch. Seemingly, the novelty of it was her biggest motivating factor, and Tyrion, though he was a horny seventeen-year-old, nevertheless had his pride. 

How _much_ pride did he have, though? And was that amount of pride worth passing up the opportunity? 

“Don’t talk yourself out of it,” said Gina. Then she grabbed him by the shoulders and smashed her lips into his. 

_Well then_ , thought Tyrion. 

Eight seconds was usually the limit of his makeout sessions--the official count for both staying on the bull and kissing the dwarf. He counted backwards in his head, winding down as he approached zero. But Gina--Gina sped up, pressing into him with what he imagined to be a sort of animal fury, lacing her long, slender fingers into his short stubby ones. 

To his own shame, Tyrion moaned. 

“See, you want this,” Gina muttered, snaking one hand down his side. 

They kept going, harder, faster. At some point, Gina rolled them both behind a large potted plant, so they were completely out of view from the house. Tyrion, remaining acutely aware of time, calculated that he had now been making out with a girl for over eight _minutes_. 

Abruptly, Gina sat up, thus unseating Tyrion, who had been more or less on her lap. 

“All right, Lannister.” Her eyes seemed darker, more sinister. But maybe that was just the light. 

“All right?” he echoed dumbly. 

“You ready for this?” 

And before Tyrion could answer, she’d stripped off her shirt. 

“By all the gods,” he whispered. 

Gina snorted. “You know, they’re not just for looking at,” she said, pointing at her breasts. “You can like touch them and stuff.” 

Tyrion spread his fingers and slowly placed his palm over the neon pink lace of her bra. 

“Okay?” he asked. Down there, Little Tyrion (whom he liked to think of as quite large, thank you very much) pulsed wildly. 

“Awesome,” said Gina. “Your cute little hand makes my boob look bigger.” 

Tyrion, suddenly flush with confidence, grinned and grabbed the other boob too. 

// 

Selina Meyer’s house was surrounded by a fence, on all sides. The driveway was gated. He’d tried buzzing, but no one had responded. Then he’d walked around to the back, only to discover that the backyard wasn’t fenced so much as it was walled. The fence was completely solid here, and it was incredibly high. Seemingly impenetrable, in fact. 

From south of the wall, Jon Snow looked north and wondered if he would ever reach the other side. Then he noticed a side gate that had been left open. 

He took one last drag of his cigarette. It was his third since he’d arrived. He ought to cut down, he knew. Sighing at himself, he ground the stub into the mud and stepped through. 

There wasn’t quite as much action in the backyard as he’d expected. Two silhouetted figures were going at it on the deck, but he couldn’t tell who they were, and decided that as long as _she_ wasn’t one of them, he didn’t care. 

He edged closer to the house. 

“Jon Snow,” said a lanky giant, nodding. Jon suppressed an automatic urge to strike the giant with a broadsword. He nodded instead. 

“Jonah.” 

“Hey, so man, let me talk to you about something.” Jonah wrapped a freakish limb around Jon’s shoulder and pulled him inside. “I would so love to get you in a private room for a moment or two.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“Just so we can talk. I mean. Not before you’ve had a drink, of course. Here, let me--” Jonah turned to the keg, swore at it, and soon Jon found a red Solo cup of beer foam thrust in his face. 

Jon lifted his eyebrows. “No thanks.” 

Jonah scoffed. “What, are you straight-edge?” 

“Yes,” Jon spat. 

“Don’t get all defensive about being a pussy. Here. Here’s a soda, you low-rent midget Gerard Way. And now, if you’ll follow me.” 

Jon had no idea why Jonah would want to take him to a private room, and he didn’t much care to find out. The top of the soda was popped, and Jon wondered briefly if Jonah might have slipped a roofie into it. Maybe the reason Jonah was so terrible with girls (or one of the reasons, anyway; Jon suspected there were many) was that he was secretly into guys, and his rampant homophobia was a cover. The idea that Jonah might be gay didn’t bother Jon in itself, since he had lots of complicated thoughts about gender and masculinity. But even if he was potentially open to fooling around with a dude, he’d sit through a thousand-year winter before he agreed to sleep with this one. 

Then it occurred to him that it was actually more likely that Jonah, who had the wits of a mentally deficient pea, was acting on Joffrey’s behalf. Joffrey’s cruelty combined with Jonah’s vicious inanity made for a dangerous combination. What they probably wanted, he thought, was to roofie him, draw a penis on his face, and then Instagram it for the world to see. 

“No thanks,” said Jon. 

“You don’t even want a fucking soda?” 

Unfortunately, he was kind of thirsty. “Diet, then,” he said. Jonah rolled his eyes and grabbed one from the counter. Watching the scarecrow’s movements carefully, Jon made sure to reach for the can before Jonah could pop the top. 

“Can we go now?” 

“No. I’m not going anywhere with you.” 

Jonah stomped his foot. “Don’t be a dick, Jon.” 

“Takes one to know one,” said Jon Snow. Pleased with his witty comeback, he edged through the back door, taking care not to make eye contact with anyone. 

// 

Pressed against the door in Selina’s bathroom--not for any particular reason, since he’d locked it already--Jake listened hard to the voices and footsteps outside, trying to suss out who was in Selina’s bedroom. 

“Three boys,” he whispered to Amy. “Maybe four. Mike, Gary, Dan, and that Varys kid. So...three. Varys doesn’t count.” He was referring, of course, to the rumor that had spread as soon as Varys transferred in. On his very first day, a rogue volleyball had smashed into Varys’s testicle area, and he hadn’t so much as flinched. Since then, most of the school had been convinced that Varys simply didn’t _have_ any testicles. Jake wasn’t sure the rumors were true, but he did know that Varys wouldn’t use the urinals or change in the locker room. 

“Don’t be gross, Jake.” 

“And some girls. Let’s see. Selina, of course. Amy B. Rosa? Is that Rosa’s voice?” 

Amy shook her head furiously. “Rosa wouldn’t.” 

“Then it’s that Shae girl, I think. The really hot one.” This earned Jake an adorable scowl. “And Margaery Tyrell.” 

“Crap,” whispered Amy. “Margaery’s supporting Selina now? I thought she was running herself.” 

“Oh, you know her. She’ll run for vice president and then stage a coup. Get Selina recalled or something.” 

“Jake,” sighed Amy, from her perch on the counter, “you are aware that this is a high school student council race, right? Not the actual presidency of the United States?” 

“The intrigue of political power runs deep, Santiago.” He widened his eyes and waggled his fingers for emphasis. 

“That doesn’t even make sense.” 

For a few minutes, they listened. It was impossible to make out every word, but they got the gist of what was going on out there: Selina was bossing everyone around. Dan Egan was sucking up to her, and so was Amy B. This led, soon enough, to Dan and Amy B. hissing insults at each other. 

“Why?” groaned Amy S. “Why is she friends with these people now? They’re _horrible_.” 

Jake shook his head. “She’s crazy if she’d rather hang out with them instead of you.” Suddenly, his armpits felt sweaty. That, he was sure, had been an entirely too honest thing to say. 

To his surprise, Amy looked pleased. “Thank you, Jake.” 

He gave her a quick, exaggerated wink. 

“Are you okay?” she asked. “Your eye’s twitching.” 

“No, I’m fine.” 

“Joffrey Baratheon is a fucking little turd with cornsilk hair, okay?” came Dan’s voice. “He’s a fucking little turd who’s full of shit. And corn. You know when you eat corn on the cob, and it comes out all--” 

“Thank you, Dan, for that disgustingly graphic metaphor,” said Selina. “But that raises a good point. How do I beat him? How do _we_ beat him?” 

“We flush him,” said Amy B. “You flush away turds.” 

“Is he in a toilet?” asked Mike. 

“No, idiot,” said Amy B. “First we have to get him in the toilet. Then we flush him.” 

Dan cleared his throat. “So what this campaign needs is a laxative.” 

Amy S. slipped onto the floor with a _thump_ that was just slightly too loud. 

“What was that?” said Selina. “Is someone spying on us from the bathroom?” When no one answered, she ordered Gary to open the door. 

“It’s locked,” he said, "but don’t worry, I have the key right here.” 

“Gary, why do you have a key to my bathroom?” 

The doorknob started rattling harder. Jake froze. What the hell were they supposed to do? How could they explain hiding in Selina’s bathroom, or even being upstairs in the first place? 

He slid his eyes onto Amy. To his surprise, she wasn’t panicking. She looked confident. 

“Trust me,” she said, with absolute conviction. 

Before Jake could nod, she’d straddled his lap, pushing him against the cabinet. By the time Gary managed to open the door, Amy’s hands were under his shirt and her tongue was pushing into his. 

“Well, well, well,” drawled Selina. 

Amy broke the kiss off then, and Jake felt a slight whimper escape him. Those had definitely been the best six seconds of his life thus far. 

He glanced over Amy’s head at the other Amy, who looked positively flabbergasted. 

“Excuse us,” said Amy, the right Amy, hopefully _his_ Amy now. “Come on, Jake.” She stood up, grabbed his hand, and dragged him out of Selina’s bathroom, her dignity almost entirely intact. 

“Well, that was unexpected,” he heard Dan Egan say as they slammed the bedroom door behind them. 

“What were you two doing?” asked Kent, passing them in the hallway. “Are you also on Selina’s team?” 

“Oh, we--” started Amy, but Jake suddenly had his mojo back. 

“Were just scoping out the competition,” he finished. 

Kent arched a well-groomed eyebrow, and Jake wondered who even bothered to groom their eyebrows in high school. Well, girls. But Kent? 

“Competition, eh?” 

“That’s right.” Jake gave Kent his biggest, most confident smile. “Amy Santiago here is running for student council president too.” 

// 

Jonah shut the door behind him. “He wouldn’t come.” 

“Goddammit, Jonah,” spat Joffrey. “You have to _make_ people come. Use force if you must.” He cracked his knuckles, creating a certain emphasis that Jonah couldn’t help but admire. “Get your hands dirty. We need Jon Snow’s support if I’m going to win the student council election. That’s what my mom says, anyway. He controls the misfit vote.” 

Sometimes Jonah wondered why Joffrey never seemed to get his own hands dirty. But he supposed one didn’t have to, when one was handsome, rich, and well-connected. 

“We can catch up to him on Monday,” said Jonah. 

“What did you say to him?” 

“I just asked him to step into a private room with me.” 

Joffrey cuffed Jonah on the side of the head. He had to stand on a chair to do it. 

“That’s the gayest thing I’ve ever heard, you overgrown ragweed. No wonder he wouldn’t come.” 

Jonah felt his face flush hot. “I’m not gay!” he sputtered. “You know that. Everyone knows that. I’ve had sex with plenty of girls.” 

“No, you haven’t. And you won’t. You’re going to be a virgin for the rest of your life.” 

For a moment, the two best friends glared at each other. Sometimes Jonah thought there was a spark of hatred in Joffrey’s eyes, but then he remembered the pictures of the Lannister-Baratheon vacation house. He had been promised he could go there for spring break. So, just for now, he kept his mouth shut (even though Joffrey was right; he _hadn’t_ had sex with any girls). He kept it shut for a good twenty seconds, which was like some kind of shutting-up record. 

“I still get to run your campaign, right?” 

“You were never going to run my campaign,” Joffrey scoffed. “My mom’s running it. I said you could help.” 

“No, you said--” 

“Are you deaf?” Joffrey climbed back on his chair and smacked the back of Jonah’s head again. It stung, particularly where Joff’s large gold lion ring had collided with the most sensitive part of Jonah’s skull, where his growth plates hadn’t quite fused. 

He scowled, thought of the vacation house, and bit his tongue. For now. As soon as spring break was over, it would be all-out war. Right then and there, Jonah decided that he would run for prom king, and he would win. Joffrey wanted it, Jonah knew that, but he would find a way to beat his best friend into the _ground_. 

Step one: Ryantology tumblr campaign. 

//

Jon Snow decided he’d take himself on a tour of the backyard before he split, because there was no point in crashing a party if you didn’t bother to learn exactly what everyone else wanted you to miss out on. And maybe, just maybe, he’d happen across _her_. 

He nursed his warm soda as he sauntered disinterestedly through the grass. And then, as he wandered around the pool, he heard a deep, throaty “HA!” and knew it was _her_. His heart, which so often seemed to beat cold and black, felt warm and red as it squirmed inside his chest. 

There were no possible opening lines cool enough for Rosa Diaz, so he merely gazed at her until one of the girls next to her noticed him. 

“Step out of the shadows, creeper,” ordered the girl, whom he now recognized as Sue Wilson. 

Jon took a few steps forward and continued to gaze at the lovely Rosa. Her skin was a smooth olive, her hair blacker than his, her eyes...strangely glazed over. 

Sue _tsk_ ed. Rosa snorted. Jon took a deep breath to calm himself and realized everything smelled like weed. 

A third girl--he should have noticed her before; she was so pale her skin shone in the moonlight--stood up and folded her arms flat over her chest. 

“Why are you here?” she demanded. “You weren’t invited to this party.” 

Jon didn’t necessarily want to be popular. He wanted nothing less than to be popular, in fact. But it was still always galling that his younger half-sister was so much more popular than he was. 

“You don’t know that.” 

“Yes, I do,” Sansa retorted. 

Her eyes were strangely glazed over, too. “Have you been doing drugs?” 

She shrugged. “It’s just pot. It doesn’t count.” 

Jon Snow’s blood started boiling. “Doesn’t _count_? Of course it counts!” 

“You smoke,” she pointed out. 

“Cigarettes,” he said. “And I’m quitting.” 

Sansa snorted. “Pot’s no worse than cigarettes.” 

“It changes your mood. It ruins your brain. Look at you. Your dress might be stained.” 

“I have others.” 

“And it’s illegal.” 

“Are you going to call the cops?” 

“You’re a terrible influence on Arya and Brandon and Rickie.” 

At this, Sansa rolled her eyes so hard her pupils nearly disappeared. “Arya’s a bad influence on everyone else. She’s also not here.”

“Still,” muttered Jon. He looked over at Rosa, and bit the inside of his cheek. A smile twitched at the corner of her lips. 

“Your sister’s cool,” she said. 

“Half-sister,” corrected Sansa. 

Rosa held out a partially smoked joint. “You want?” she asked him. 

Jon shook his head. He could feel his heart starting to plummet. The beautiful, intelligent, tough, icy Rosa Diaz used drugs. 

“I thought you wanted to be a cop,” he said, mostly to Rosa’s knees. 

At that, she actually did laugh out loud. It was short and clipped and reminded him of his father’s finest goats. “The police academy isn’t going to know if I smoked a joint or three in high school as long as my urine’s clean when I apply. In three or four years.” She gave a second bleating laugh. “I see what you mean, Stark. Jon Snow here knows nothing.” 

They high-fived. 

As he turned away from the girls, resigning himself to another night as Sam and Gilly’s third wheel, a tiny bonfire of hope burned inside Jon Snow’s chest. 

She knew his name. 

// 

Amy Santiago had not been drinking. Why, then, was she so dizzy? Why was her head pounding? It wasn’t a bad pounding, exactly. More like the feeling she used to get on Christmas mornings, before she’d stopped believing in Santa. Actually, it felt more as if her whole body was pounding. 

Whatever was happening, it was Jake Peralta’s fault. 

“This isn’t my fault, Santiago.” 

“I didn’t say it was.” 

“You were going to.” 

“Maybe.” They’d rejoined the party, kind of but not really, claiming a couple of chairs in the emptiest corner of Selina’s basement. 

“You totally were. You’re making the blame face.” 

“The what?” 

“It’s the same face you make when I do anything cool in biology lab.” 

Amy buried her head in her hands. This had been the weirdest party ever. She had, in front of her ex-best-friend and that ex-best-friend’s new best friend, hardcore made out (however briefly) with the one boy she’d sworn to Amy B. that she’d never so much as dance with. And the most confusing thing was, she didn’t even particularly regret it. Jake Peralta was not, much to her surprise, a terrible kisser. 

“I’m not such a bad kisser,” he said now, further cementing the weirdness of the evening. 

Plus, he’d told Kent that she was running for student council president, which meant that everyone in school would know by Monday. 

“Come on.” Jake nudged her thigh with his elbow, but she remained still. “You know you’ve always wanted to be student council president.” 

“Not _now_ ,” she groaned. “I mean, come on, Jake. I don’t have a chance in heck of beating either Selina or Joffrey, let alone both of them.” 

“What’s up with her?” said a familiar voice. 

“Look alive, Santiago,” said another. 

“Hey, Brienne. Hey, Terry. Guess what? Santiago here just announced her candidacy for student council president.” 

“No,” groaned Amy, sitting up, “ _you_ did.” 

When she opened her eyes, she saw a broad smile on Brienne’s lips. 

“See?” Jake nudged her in the thigh again. “Brienne thinks it’s a good idea.” 

“No, you don’t,” said Amy. “You don’t, right?” It had to be because Brienne was holding hands with Terry--wait, _what_? But she didn’t have time to wonder about that right now. All her mental energy was devoted to being freaked out by Jake Peralta and his terrible impetuous decisions. 

Brienne nodded. “Actually, I do.” 

Amy groaned. 

“No, look,” said Brienne. “You’ll split the vote. There are plenty of people who don’t like Selina or Joffrey.” 

Jake nodded. “You’d be a much better choice.” 

Amy stared directly into Jake’s eyes and realized that for once, he was completely in earnest. She was reminded of a hopeful puppy, one that wanted to be patted on the head and told he was a good boy, which was something she couldn’t do on account of her allergies. 

She could, however, imagine herself on stage at assembly when the election results were announced, smiling broadly but modestly, shaking Principal Holt’s hand… 

Maybe, if she became the best class president in school history, Principal Holt would write her a glowing letter of recommendation when she applied to college. What would he say about her? _Amy Santiago is the brightest young woman with whom I have ever had the pleasure of working_ , he’d start. _I cannot think of a single weakness. She excels in the classroom here at Westeros High as well as her extracurricular activities, and I am told by her dentist that her oral hygiene is also commendable._

Amy shook her head before her fantasies got too out of control. 

“I guess the worst that can happen is that I get humiliated,” she said. 

Jake clapped her on the back, and she realized he’d been awfully...touchy, since she’d kissed him. “That’s the spirit. Henceforth, I shall be your campaign manager.” 

“Or I could get someone else, like--” He looked so wounded that she couldn’t quite continue. “Okay, fine. You’re my campaign manager. Brienne, you in?” 

Brienne nodded solemnly. “I pledge my services to you,” she said. 

“As do I.” Terry clapped Amy hard on the shoulder, and she winced. “And if you have me, you have the jock vote.” 

Jake high-fived them both and gave Amy a dopey grin so enormous and delighted that she couldn’t help but return at least part of it. 

She took a deep breath. 

“First order of business.” Now that the idea had started to take root, she felt the same excitement that came with stapling the top left corner of a sparkling essay. “Signatures. I need to collect one hundred student signatures. How many people do you think are at this party?” 

“I’ll start asking,” said Brienne, standing up, but Jake waved her back down. 

“You’re not going to win any cool points if you circulate a petition now. It can wait until Monday.” 

Amy sighed and nodded. “I guess that gives us some time to strategize.” 

“Exactly.” Jake dragged his chair a little closer and gestured them into a huddle. 

“What?” she whispered, once all four heads were nearly touching. 

“First thing,” said Jake. “What is going on between Brookheimer and Egan?” 

“Nothing. She loathes him. She called him cockroach excrement just last week.” 

“So they’re flirting.” 

“That’s not flirting.” 

“That’s absolutely flirting,” spat Terry. “Do you not watch TV, Santiago?” 

“Anyway,” continued Jake, “if they’re fight-flirting, that’s good for us. Selina’s campaign might self-destruct. Now, as for Joffrey Baratheon…” 

The party raged on around them, but Amy barely noticed, not even when her former best friend reappeared and glared at her from the other side of the basement. 

// 

Across the ocean, Dany Targaryen watched photos of the party pop up on her Twitter and Instagram feeds, and cursed her parents for sending her to boarding school in Dubai. 

//


End file.
